


Siegfried of Redwall

by fiendfall



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: BUT ITS HARD, Gen, OR IS IT, Redwall AU, ZevWarden Week, attempts at emulating brian jacques' writing style, except: theyre both animals, not a furry fic i promise, prompt: AU, somehow plot crept in, you don't have to know the redwall books to understand this btw, zevran & the warden's first meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:58:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7665895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiendfall/pseuds/fiendfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The peace of late summer in Mossflower is broken with the news of a vermin horde marching their way. The squirrel Siegfried sets out to muster aid from the surrounding countryside, and on the way meets a rather unusual bird...</p><p>Redwall!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siegfried of Redwall

It was late summer, and Mossflower country bathed in the fading golden glow of approaching twilight, tugged gently by a peaceful breeze, steeped in the balmy warmth that heralded the advance of a dusky September eve.

Set between rolling meadows and and deep velvet of Mossflower Wood, edged with a dusty ribbon of roads, Redwall Abbey stood tall and welcoming, high brick walls spread with ivy that lingered on the cusp between tawny green and burnt red. High above, the bell tower towered over the ramparts, casting lengthening shadow over the cloisters below. As evening drew on, the great Joseph Bell struck out the hour with seven deep tolls, resonating across the surrounding countryside and echoed by the muffled chimes from St Ninian’s.

Within the high walls, warmed by the sun, myriad small creatures went about their daily tasks, unmolested by the troubles of the outside world. Here a mole, tending the abbey’s small garden; there a field mouse, herding a group of youngsters inside; and was that Brother Jowan, teetering in the branches of a plum tree? It was, and he looked like to fall.

All was surveyed by the careful eye of the Father Abbot, an old mouse by the name of Cyrion, whose whiskers were near as long as his years. Grey of fur about the ears and nose, he nevertheless wore the habit of Father Abbot well, caring for each creature beneath his watch with wisdom and patience. He shook his head at the sight of Brother Jowan perched so precariously in his pursuit of plums – what an energetic young mouse he was! Always bobbing about, eager to please and yet somehow troublesome all the same.

‘Be careful, my son!’ he called out as a warning, but he needn’t have worried. A nearby squirrel had seen the danger, and now she dashed up the tree nimbly to rescue the poor mouse. Siegfried was a familiar face at the abbey, often seen catching smaller creatures as they fell from branches or the ramparts. Abbot Cyrion knew she could be content here, if only she let herself; but he also knew unrest coiled in her bones. She was never still, her tail always twitching, always looking for signs of trouble. Peace sat uneasy on her shoulders.

He nodded his thanks to the young squirrel as she passed, but anything he had to say was cut off as the peace of growing evening was rent by a sudden hammering on the ancient gate.

The pounding on the old wood was desperate, and Orsino hurried from the gatehouse to open the doors even as other curious creatures flocked to the entrance to see what the fuss was about. Finally, with the help of Siegfried and Brother Jowan, the gates were pushed open to reveal two tired and travel-worn creatures, clearly in some kind of trouble.

‘Everyone stay back, give these poor creatures some space to breathe!’ Orsino called, pushing the crowd of onlookers out of the way so Abbot Cyrion could pass through. A young hedgehog, barely supporting the weight of a large and injured badger, stood in the gateway, his face stricken with worry.

‘Please, help him!’

Abbot Cyrion wasted no time. ‘Tell Sister Shianni we have an injured creature that needs her assistance immediately,’ he ordered a young mouse, before turning back to the hedgehog in front of him. ‘You have no need to fear, we will do all we can to help your friend. Are you hurt in any way, my son?’

The hedgehog shook his head. ‘No, no, just him. I told him to rest, but he refused – he kept saying we had to get to Redwall, we had to warn you.’

Abbot Cyrion and Orsino exchanged a look. Mossflower country had enjoyed a good few years of peace, but it seemed it was not to last.

Sister Shianni appeared a moment later, and Siegfried and Jowan helped her carry the badger to the infirmary. The hedgehog, whose name he revealed was Alistair, refused to leave his companion’s side, preferring instead to sit by the badger’s bedside, spines all a-bristle with worry. Sister Shianni managed to encourage him to eat a small bowl of turnip and nutmeg soup and a wedge of acorn bread, and eventually he fell asleep in his chair, nose twitching as he dreamt.

When she had done all she could for the badger, Sister Shianni took Abbot Cyrion aside and informed him of the creature’s injuries. These had been done by no adder, no wildcat; no creature in Mossflower Wood could have injured him so. The badger had been fatally stabbed by a bladed weapon, the like Mossflower country had not seen in years, and although she could prolong his life she could not save it.

Grave news, indeed. Graver still was what the badger had to tell the abbey when he awoke.

The Father Abbot, Sister Shianni, Orsino, Alistair the hedgehog, and Siegfried all gathered in the infirmary when they heard news that the badger had recovered enough to tell them his warning. Abbot Cyrion had tried sending Siegfried away, but the squirrel was stubborn as an old oak, and he at last relented. He trusted her judgement, at least, and her youth might bring wisdom that was only clouded by the others’ experience.

The badger, greying at the snout himself, sat propped up on the bed, bandages wrapped around his middle and fur damp with blood.

‘My name is Duncan,’ he began, ‘and Alistair and I have travelled from Salamandastron. We were once part of a tribe there, led by King Maric; but we were attacked by a horde of vermin larger than any I have ever seen, and led by a cruel rat warlord calling himself Urthemiel. They murdered their way across the land; Alistair and I were the only two to survive. We thought if we could make it far enough, we would be safe, and Urthemiel would give up in his pursuit, but we were wrong. I fear we have merely led them to your doorstep, and for that I am greatly aggrieved. These vermin will kill any creature in their path, raze all to the ground, pick the land dry, and move on to new places to torment. They must be stopped, and I had hoped you might be the ones to do that.’

Abbot Cyrion shook his head in sadness. This was a grim tale indeed. ‘I am saddened by the news of your tribe, but Redwall is no place of war. We are creatures of peace. Our founder, Andraste, may have been a warrior mouse, but even she saw the need for armistice. Our order exists today because she forsook the way of the warrior and hung up her sword. We have all taken a vow never to harm another living creature, and that is a vow we shall take to our very deaths.’

‘Not all of us,’ piped up a voice, and turning, Abbot Cyrion could not be surprised to see it was Siegfried who had spoken. ‘If this rat truly threatens Redwall, or even all of Mossflower, surely it is our duty to stop him? Redwall mice may be sworn to do no harm, but I am no Redwall mouse, and neither are those at St. Ninian’s, or the farm, or any of the surrounding country.’ She gave Abbot Cyrion no chance to interject, turning instead to Duncan. ‘Is this Urthemiel and his horde as dangerous as you say? Will he raze Mossflower country if we cannot stop him?’

It was the hedgehog who answered her. ‘Yes,’ he said, with surprising ferocity. ‘He is cruel and vicious, a tyrant who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. He must be defeated, or all of Mossflower will fall beneath his blade.’

‘Then surely we must stop him! Father Abbot, I know you hate war and all violence, but let me take up this mantle instead! There are many who would fight for their freedom; let me gather them and bring them here, and we can stand together against the vermin that would threaten our very lives.’

For the first time in his long tenure, Abbot Cyrion faltered. He held peace dear to his heart, but could not deny the threat Redwall and its surrounding country faced. To do so would be to condemn the lives of so many creatures, from the younglings beneath his watch, to the sparrows in the rafters, to the inhabitants of Mossflower Wood itself.

‘We cannot ask them to fight on our behalf,’ he said finally. ‘Any who come must come willingly, and in full knowledge of the danger.’

Siegfried merely nodded seriously. ‘I understand. Nevertheless, I’m sure there will be many who feel as I do. Mossflower must be protected, and we shall be the ones to do it.’

________

Three days had passed by the time Siegfried set out on her mission; three days of preparation and planning, of stern instruction and tearful goodbye. During that time, the badger Duncan passed away in his sleep and was laid to rest in the abbey gardens beneath a sweet cherry blossom.

When Siegfried finally left, the sun was barely peeking above the clouds, rosy-fingered dawn stretching like a cat after a nap. Her pack on her back, a stout stick in her hand, she set out on the road with only Alistair, the hedgehog, for company. Others had offered their assistance, but she had gently turned them all down; they would be needed at the abbey in the coming days. Her mission was dangerous, and if she should fail, Redwall would need all the help it could get.

Within a week, they had been to St. Ninian’s, Brockhall, the river, and the quarry in the north, telling every creature they came across the grave news and receiving pledges of assistance from many, although not as many as Siegfried had hoped. Many creatures had been too afeared to offer help, merely fleeing to Redwall for sanctuary while they could.

She and Alistair had been joined by three creatures who had offered their aid more immediately, however: a sweet bluebird named Leliana, a stern otter named Wynne, and a loud mole named Oghren. Travelling with a larger party was certainly safer; they had already found themselves in several tricky situations, especially one evening when they camped in a barn they later discovered was inhabited by a rather territorial owl.

As noontide approached, they decided to stop for lunch before heading on to the area around Skeleton Rocks, where clans of pygmy shrews were known to make camp. She’d packed plenty of cheese and barley bread that morning when they left the quarry, and they found some blackberries by the side of the road, shiny and plump.

Their peaceful lunch was interrupted, however, by the flapping of wings, and suddenly Siegfried found herself lifted in powerful talons, rising higher into the air with every beat of the bird’s powerful wings. Twisting in its grip, she reached for the small knife she kept in her belt, an addition after the owl altercation, and rammed it upwards into the bird’s soft belly beneath the black plumage.

With a shriek, the bird let go, and she felt herself plummet towards the ground. She managed to right herself in the air before landing on all fours, but the impact still sent a jarring pain through her limbs.

‘Siegfried!’ Alistair called, rushing up to her and helping her to stand. The others quickly gathered around them, scanning the area in case the bird tried again.

‘Hurr! Oi thoughten you’m be eatened oop all gurt boi em varmint, burr aye!’ Oghren said, sounding altogether too cheerful for the situation.

‘I’m fine,’ Siegfried informed them. ‘Keep your eyes open.’

Leliana took flight and wheeled about above their heads, a dagger clutched in her claws lest the bird show its beak again. After a moment, she alighted on the ground in front of them.

‘I can’t see him anywhere; maybe he’s fled?’

At that moment, they heard the ominous beating of wings again, and the smaller creatures scattered. Alistair curled himself into a prickly ball, Oghren dashed to the cover of a bush, and Leliana leapt back into the air. Only Siegfried and Wynne stood fast, but it turned out they needn’t have worried.

The bird appeared overhead, lurching unevenly from the wound Siegfried had inflicted. He clearly readied himself for another dive at her, but missed, instead carreening past and crash-landing on the ground a little way ahead of them, sending up a puff of dust and stones.

Siegfried held her blade tightly. Up close, she could see the bird was a jackdaw, the sun shining off his black plumage and turning it almost silver in the light. He was bleeding heavily from her earlier wound – she couldn’t help but feel proud at that – and in no shape to fight. Birds were tricky things; as five on one, they could have taken many land creatures, but those in the air would always have the advantage.

‘Get away!’ she shouted, mustering her courage to speak up to the larger creature. ‘I’ve stabbed you once, and I’m more than happy to do so again!’

‘I’m sure you are, but I’d really rather it if you’d just let me catch my breath first,’ the jackdaw replied, attempting to stand. ‘I have no complaints if you kill me; it is only fair, after all. I tried to kill you first. But a moment’s respite, perhaps?’

‘I’m not falling for any of your tricks,’ she spat back. ‘Go find your supper elsewhere!’

The jackdaw cawed in what she assumed must be laughter. ‘Oh no, my dear, you quite misunderstand my intentions. You’re causing some trouble, so quite simply, I was sent to kill you. I have no desire to eat you.’

‘That doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m not dying today.’

‘It would seem not, as you are not the one bleeding all over the grass.’ The bird regarded her curiously for a moment, before seeming to sigh. ‘Very well, I am ready. You may stab me again now.’

She didn’t move. She may not have been a Redwall mouse, but she still had little desire to kill a defenseless creature. Even if he had attacked first.

‘I see I am not dead,’ the crow said after a moment. ‘Do you mean to let me live, or are you merely tormenting me?’

‘I don’t play with my prey,’ she shot back. And then, ‘Don’t claw me. I’m going to look at your wound.’

He looked at her strangely. ‘Come to laud it over me? Inspect your handiwork?’

She approached him warily. ‘Don’t be daft. It looks bad, that’s all.’

The bird shifted uncomfortably as she drew closer, but made no move to attack. Looking closer, she could see through the feathers the long score down his belly; not fatal, but certainly painful.

‘You’ll live,’ she said finally. ‘I can get you a poultice to put on it if you’d like.’ She’d spent enough time with Shianni to pick up a thing or two.

The crow was looking at her with open incredulity. ‘I attempt your murder, and this is how you repay me? You Mossflower folk are stranger than I’d been led to believe.’

‘I can still stab you if you’d like.’

‘No, no, my apologies. The less stabbing the better. Truly, you are too kind.’ He sounded too genuine to be insincere.

‘What are you, some kind of assassin bird?’ she asked him as she gathered herbs from her pack.

‘No need to sound so sceptical,’ he said, almost sounding moody. ‘I come from a famous house of crow assassins.’

‘Not famous here. I take it Urthemiel sent you.’

‘You’re cleverer than you look.’

She fixed him with a hard look, and he laughed again. ‘My apologies, that was unworthy of me. You know, you are not what I expected at all.’

‘And what did you expect?’

‘I don’t know, something else. But I can see why you are worrying Urthemiel. Mossflower country has not been united since the time of Andraste, when the wildcat tribes threatened the land; and yet you are very near to achieving this feat once more.’

‘All I did was call in a few favours.’

‘Perhaps.’

She sat in silence for a moment, feeling the eyes of her companions heavy on her back. Surely they thought she was being ridiculous, aiding their enemy so – and so soon after he had tried to kill her! But she had been raised at Redwall, alongside Shianni, and the Order was duty bound never to turn away a creature in need, even if they be their greatest foe.

‘There,’ she said finally, finishing the poultice and pressing it to the crow’s wound. ‘That should help.’

‘You have my thanks. I owe you my life; now it is yours.’

‘What?’

‘You are uniting Mossflower, yes? You need help to fight Urthemiel. My loyalty lies with you.’

It was one thing not to kill him, but to take him on as an ally would be quite another. ‘Er, I’m fine thanks. Just- just fly off wherever- wheverever it is you were going to go anyway, okay?’

He hops to his feet lightly. ‘I cannot; to return to my master would mean certain death. I would rather see that tyrant die than spend my life in flight; so it would seem, our paths align. I promise not to eat you or any of your companions.’

‘Promises only go so far.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘You may stab me if I try. But I won’t. And really, I am a skilled fighter, I could be quite a help on this endeavour of yours.’

Siegfried was always practically minded, and she couldn’t help but see the sense in what the crow was saying, despite the sounds of incredulity coming from her companions behind her. After all, they had defeated this bird once before, and she was confident they could do so again if there was need.

‘Very well. You may travel with us on the understanding that if you try anything, anything at all, you’ll wake up dead.’

‘Sounds perfectly fair to me. The name’s Zevran, by the way.’

‘Just get walking. If you slow us down I’ll rethink my stance on stabbing.’


End file.
